


Real Men Can Bake

by kore_rising



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kore_rising/pseuds/kore_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne has the day from hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Men Can Bake

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: NC-17/M for swearing, a really unfortunate injury, cookies and kitchen misbehaviour.  
> Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur  
> Notes/Warnings: For [this](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/13659.html?thread=30215003#t30215003) prompt at[](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[ **inception_kink**](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/) : Ariadne's having a bad day. Arthur bakes her cookies.
> 
> This is intended to fit very loosely into the storyline started in [_Touch Sensitive_](http://kore-rising.livejournal.com/15675.html), but you don't have to read that to enjoy this.
> 
> The characters, setting and story of _Inception_ are the property of Christopher Nolan and no cash is being made from this story.

~*~

If I were to make a list of the pros and cons of being born female right at the very top of the cons column, in heavy black letters underlined twice in red, would be the reproductive cycle. No matter what you do about it, pills, injections, little plastic fish hook shaped things inserted into places I wince to think about or simply going with the flow (sorry, crappy pun not intended), no matter what every single damn month you have to put up with a week and a half of feeling like the Gorgon Medusa crossed with Storm from the X Men minus the glamour.  
Alright, maybe the contraceptive stuff helps but I've never found anything that would take it away completely and let me reassure you that when the first day of that week and a half turns up I always know it. Always.

\---

Arthur had already left by the time I woke up. His half of the bed had been neatly straightened around me, his clothes were gone from his valet stand ( _who knew such a thing existed? Until I met Arthur I certainly didn't_ ); and when I staggered into the kitchen, my hair sticking crazily out from my head, sleep smeared over my eyes and my body still heavy with awakening,  his coffee mug and breakfast dish were neatly stacked in the dishwasher and half a pot of coffee had been left on the warming plate. I had a recollection of him saying he had to go across town to collect something from a contact before we were due at our work base, but we'd been working so hard recently, sleeping without resting, I was hard pressed to recall if he'd really said it or I'd simply dreamed it up from my addled brain. Whatever, he'd let me sleep and for that I was grateful.

I was smiling over how considerate he was, pouring some coffee and maybe even humming a little tune, wondering if I could drag myself to the shower without falling asleep again since my limbs felt like they had poured with slow setting cement, when I caught sight of the kitchen clock. Then forced myself to open my eyes good and wide to read it properly.

10.30am.

Ten fucking thirty am. I'd overslept by two hours, missed my usual work time by about one and a half and even if I crammed everything I needed to do into twenty minutes I still had to get to the basement we were working out of, so making myself a grand total of two hours late. "Shit," I muttered, "shit, shit, shit..." And took an unthinking swig of my coffee. My hot, black coffee. The bitter taste hit me like a mouthful of burning bile, making me gag then spit coffee everywhere. Note when I say everywhere? I mean down myself. Never mind that in the process I jumped, cursing with discomfort and sent the rest of the mugful spilling against my chest in a prickling blast of pain. I was left swearing, ripping my shirt off and cursing again at the bright red patch blossoming on my skin as if someone had thrown red paint over me. At that was before the stinging heat of the scald kicked in, like sunburn magnified up to the tenth power or something equally bad, and that I realised the shirt I dragged on last night was one of Arthur's. "No," I heard myself start to whine, unsure which to see to first. _Was it hot water or cold for coffee stains? Bicarb? Vinegar?_ The scald was aching harder by the minute as I wrenched the kitchen faucet full on, filled the sink with ice cold water, threw in a slug of vinegar for good measure and dunked the shirt in. _Let it come out_ , I prayed, swishing it around desperately and hoping that the dark tendrils I saw around the fabric weren't my imagination.

I spent maybe ten minutes swishing, scrubbing at and poking the fine cotton around in it's bath. It seems stupid now, but I stood there naked with a scald forming on my chest that was all but sending me to tears with discomfort, desperately trying to get coffee out of my partner's shirt as if I was some misbehaving Stepford Wife or something, thinking of his face making it's resigned/disgusted look when he found it driving me to carry on. It wasn't until I saw the clock again and the pain on my skin was getting to huge to ignore that I realised I was going to have to leave it or risk having to explain the entire sorry episode in front of everyone else, never mind the oversleeping thing.

There was a huge bag of ice in the freezer which I pulled out, dislodging a bag of peas (which burst in a shower of green pellets as they hit the floor) and two tubs of ice cream in the process. I retrieved the ice cream, throwing it back, and scraped the peas into a pile with my foot while desperately twisting the ice up in a dishtowel. I hugged it to myself as I ran through the apartment, stubbing a toe in my hurry, and making it to the bathroom in under thirty seconds. As the water hiccuped and coughed on I made a mental note that while the older apartments of Paris had plenty of charm, next time I was going to make sure we had a shower with enough pressure to make Old Faithful look like a dribble.

\---

I had made it the six metro stops I needed to reach our base without major upset,  despite wishing the whole time on the crowded, sweaty little metal carriage that I'd just bitten the bullet and gotten a car or else called Arthur and begged, pleaded or bribed him to come and fetch me. To add insult to injury I got my shins banged with a pushchair and a succession of shopping bags, all the while grimacing a smile and trilling "Pas de problem!" at the Parisians around me. My cell kept bleating from my purse, the number of missed calls rising with every stop ( _where had it been when I overslept? Oh yes, on the hall table, miles from the bed where it couldn't damn well wake me up_ ) as I steadfastly ignored it, imagining it would be Cobb or, worse, Arthur demanding to know where the hell I was. The shower I'd crammed in had been rudimentary at best, alternating hot over my back and cold over my front to try and calm the scald down, and while I'd slicked my hair with serum it was now reverting to it's pre wash frizz with all the certainty of a tax return. Plus I'd grabbed the first clean clothes I could find, meaning I looked like I'd fallen through a rummage sale and picked a cardigan which I had managed to forget always brought me out in a maddening itch. Add to that the discomfort of my burn, so carefully smoothed with burn cream and aloe for good measure but still hot and tight as only they can be.

The basement where we were working was a far cry from the relative luxury of the workshop were we'd first grouped together. It smelt of it's former life as a storage space for pickles, the only natural light came from a row of ceiling lights and in order to reach it you had to navigate a back alley used by the residents to store their trash bins. By the time I was picking my way down the tiny street I could feel a dull, heavy ache starting in my lower back, the smell was making me want to throw up and just as I hit the narrow iron staircase a rat, obviously disturbed from foraging by my footsteps, made a break from it's cover, ran over my feet in a skitter of tiny claws and pink whip tail, made me scream like some cartoon madwoman and throw the latte I'd managed to grab on the run from the station six feet in the air. As the cup clattered down with a splat of liquid I heard the door below me open.

"Ariadne?" _Oh superb. Eames._ "Ariadne, is that you making that racket up there?" I heard the clang of his footsteps as he scaled the flight, then his head poked around the turn and his laser sharp blue eyes were all over me. "I see that it is." He grinned sharply. "Late night, was it? Arthur keep you from the Land of Nod?"  
"No," I clumped down the steps towards him and made to push him aside, "I overslept for the far more boring reason of being tired." He swerved away from my hands as I went to give him a shove.  
"And the screaming?"  
"There was a rat." I snapped. "A fucking rat! I bet they're in the fucking basement too. This place is a shit hole." I felt my lip curl as Eames regarded me with a hint of worry. "Don't you tell me there aren't any down there. I saw it and it was huge. I bet the place is crawling with them when we're not there." My index finger shot out and jabbed him slap bang in the middle of his loudly printed shirt.  
"Well, I agree, it's hardly a palace..."  
"You're telling me. So let's see how quiet you are when a damn rat runs over your feet." I swept down the stairs, leaving him to hurry behind me as I punched in the code for the lock, grasped the handle and tried to open the door. Which, because it was today and nothing, I mean nothing, was right, didn't happen.

I tried again; 7-8-4-2-9-3-enter. I made to twist the release but it refused to budge. "Motherfuck-" I spat at it, restraining an impulse to hit it with my fist  
"Shall I?" I heard Eames offer from behind me.  
" _I've got it!_ " I snarled at him over my shoulder, ignoring his muttered _fine_ in favour of stabbing the tiny keys in frustration, wrenching the handle from left to right then, in a final fit of rage, abandoning all my dignity and the lock in favour of kicking the barrier as hard as I could. "Open the door!" I yelled, adding my fist for good measure. "It's me, alright? The damn lock is broken! Open it right now!"

"Ariadne, if you'd just let me..." Eames started, one hand on my shoulder to move me out of the way, as from inside there was a noise of bolts moving and Cobb stood framed in the entry. "What the hell is going on?" He barked. "We're trying to be discreet here. First the screaming and now this. What's going on?" He glowered at me.  
"I saw a rat." I shot back defensively. "Plus this lock is broken. I was putting the code in and it wasn't opening."  
"Eames?" Cobb shifted his attention to the man in my shadow, who made no sound, relying perhaps on one of his elegant shrugs instead.  
"I see." Cobb turned and frowned at the keypad, then carefully tapped in the sequence. He put his hand on the handle and it slipped back as if it was on greased bearings, the bolt sliding home with a delicate thunk. "It seems to be working now." He added blandly.  
"I was putting in the right code." The words came out through gritted teeth. "I swear, it wasn't working a minute ago." Cobb peered at Eames again, who again tactfully stayed silent for once in his life.  
"Come in then. And next time, try to be a little quieter." He added with a hint of acid, letting the door go so I was forced to catch it before it slammed in my face.

"Ariadne," Eames muttered as I started to barge my way in, "I know this probably isn't the best time to mention it but before you come inside you might want to fix your clothing a little."  
"What?" I hissed as I spun around to face him, seeing his expression immediately go into the defensive.  
"Sweetheart," he whispered to me, " I hate to be the one to tell you this but the zip of your skirt is undone and I've seen your knickers." I grabbed at the back of the garment and sure enough the tell tale metal toothed gap was running from my waist to below my ass.  "Plus," he added gently, "since you're now standing with your back to everyone I would put money on Cobb and Yusuf having seen them too." I fumbled desperately at it, dropping my sketchbook then my purse as I wriggled and swore. "Would you like me to help you there?" He all but purred over my fumblings.  
"No. Damn it!" I was colouring redder and redder under his gaze.  
"You're going to break it." He warned, just as I wormed the zipper free and tried to wrench it upwards with all my strength only to be rewarded with a grating rip. "...rather like that." He pursed his lips as I swore, yanked at the zipper and swore again. "Stop it, you're making it worse. Come inside and we can fix it."  He scooped up my dropped possessions and made to move me inside, only to find me resisting him as I tried desperately to save the shreds of my dignity.  
"I am not going in like this, showing the entire world my..."  
"Drawers? Undercrackers? Bloomers? Smalls? Arthur thrillers?"  
"Jesus Eames!"  
"Standing out here isn't much better, on the whole." He persisted, the very soul of reason. I wanted to kick him. "Come on, I think I have some safety pins in my desk. The sooner you stop flashing everyone the sooner our collective blood pressure can go down and the sooner Arthur can start threatening anyone who intimates they found it attractive. Come on, Ariadne. I might even make you some coffee." He wheedled, and for a minute I forgot he was a charmer, a deceiver and a manipulator by trade. A long enough minute for him to get me inside, shut the door then turn from me, wreathed in a smile.

"Arthur!" He called gaily, "Oh, Arthur! Wardrobe malfunction right over here! Bring your emergency tailoring kit while I go and pop the kettle on!"

It was only him scampering out of reach that kept me from killing him with my bare hands.

\---

Arthur pinned me patiently back into my skirt with only a small pat on my behind when he was done. "That's a shame, you know? This is my favourite skirt." He smiled gently as I turned to face him.  
"It was mine too." I huffed, then added hurriedly "thank you."  
"Are you OK?" He plucked one of my hands into his. "You slept in this morning. You seem a little touchy too. You're not sick are you?" His gaze scanned my face carefully.  
"No," I shot back, harsher than I intended. "I'm fine. It's this damn stinking basement and the damn rats and the damn lock!" His eyebrows raised at my vitriol.

"Perhaps you'd be more comfortable working at home today..." He started slowly, watching as I pulled my hand away from his, folded my arms over my chest and snapped  
"What, do you think I can't manage this like the rest of you?"  
"No, I was just..."  
"I'm an adult and a qualified extractor. I'm not a princess who needs special treatment." He drew himself up, the point man taking over as he mirrored my stance, his expression and tone suddenly blank and impassive.  
"No one is treating you differently. You simply seem off balance and that's highly unproductive. I was offering you an alternative in the hope it would help negate that. But since you don't want it I'll leave you be." He gathered up the left over pins and stared pointedly at my table. "The third level revisions need to be done by this afternoon. Finish the model, please." He added briskly and swept away to his side of the room pointedly ignoring Eames, who was mouthing _**hormones**_ at Yusuf, and my own apologetic look in his direction.

Arthur and I occasionally argued, and when we did it was in private, heated and passionate to the point of making the walls shake. He virtually never used his professional persona around me any more, as if since we'd been together I'd been granted a glimpse of the private man under the work guise, and when he did it was usually with a good reason. I never expected him to treat me differently once I was his partner, put it like that. That he did and in the smallest and subtlest of ways, hints and gestures that only those who knew him would know to look for, was always a source of incredible pride to me. It was an acceptance I had never asked for yet was flattered to get. So to imagine him withdrawing it made me start to crumple inside. As I stood by my desk, watching him start to read and scribble notes as he did so without another glance at me, all I could think was was that I'd gone too far. My big mouth had landed me in trouble yet again and I had pushed him away too hard when all he had tried to do was be considerate. I hated myself for being such a shrew, hated my body for aching and being tired, but above all I despised myself for not having enough self control to keep it all under wraps until we were in private. I actually think I wanted to cry, right in the middle of work in front of four slick criminals, cry until my nose was red and I was covered in tears and snot. But I couldn't. 

I forced myself to sit down, pick up my plans and a pencil and start. If nothing else, my work would redeem me.

\---

 I worked through lunch, a stupid plan since it meant my blood sugar dropped and I got so damn clumsy I slit the side of my hand open with my exacto knife right as I was finishing the model I'd been working on. Unluckily I did it just as Cobb and Eames arrived back, laughing over some dirty joke or other as they opened the door and found me, blood spurting everywhere while I tried desperately to staunch the flow with my sleeve.

Cobb went pale, ran up to me and pulled my arm up by the elbow, stretching the skin of my chest and making the scald flare with pain so hard I cried out. " Ariadne, I'm sorry. We need to get you to the sink." He said firmly, forcing me across the floor as the room wobbled in my eyeline. "Eames, first aid kit." He ordered with a jab of his head, wrenching the faucet full on and thrusting my hand under the crashing water, watching as scarlet spirals trailed down the drain.   
"It was my knife. It will have cut clean." I protested vaguely, feeling my legs start to go rubbery. _Surely I hadn't lost that much blood?_  
"It may have done, but you might need stitches." He put his fingers under the flow, pulling the skin gently. "Arthur's better at it than me though." He frowned when I jumped. "Ariadne, are you in pain? Eames, bring a chair too." He barked, not waiting for my answer. "And call Arthur."  
"No," I began, "really, don't bother him." Cobb's dark blue eyes pinned me down.  
"What's going on?" He insisted. "Tell me."

 Eames hustled up, dragging a chair behind me and pushing me down into it. "They had a spat." He supplied, ever helpful. "Snappy here bit Arthur's head off when he tried his condescending act on her." He winked at me. "I was rooting for you, by the way."  
"You argued?" Cobb's grip tightened on my hand.  
"It was hardly that," Eames carried on, snapping the first aid case open while Cobb kept his look on me. "More a disagreement. Lidocaine?" He added cheerfully.  
"Ariadne?" Cobb prompted me. "Arthur can do this faster and more precisely than me. We need him here." The tap crashed in the silence, my fingers going numb as he held them still. I felt stupid and ashamed, terrified in some bizarre way, but I knew he was right. I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak. "Fine. Eames, call Arthur and tell him what happened." Cobb turned my hand under the water and frowned. "Make it quick. I don't want this left open in here."

\---

Arthur's hands were steady and warm around mine, all his attention on the wound I'd managed to slice into myself. I watched the back of his head as he sutured it shut with calm precision, adding steri strips when he was done. I wanted to force myself to apologise for having been such a bitch with him earlier, but somehow the words kept jamming in my throat. I kept licking my lips, trying to chase off the dryness I found there so I could speak, but as always Arthur beat me to the punch.

"What happened?" His voice was neutral as he finished, resting my damaged hand on my knee.  
"I slipped with my knife." I replied dully as he kept his eyes on his handiwork. I could feel myself silently pleading with him to look at me so I could try and start to make amends.  
"Did you eat yet?" He turned away from me, putting away the supplies with swift fingers and casting a glance over at Cobb, who was wiping up the blood trails I'd left on the floor and my table. I let my eyes drop to my lap.  "Ariadne, have you had any food today? At all?" I looked up to find his eyes were alarmingly gentle when they met mine. I felt a shiver on my skin- _Arthur is a fighter, Arthur is a killer, he can maim and wound in defence or protection; he's strong and self contained; I never expected him to be tender, so careful with me it would make my angry, prickly soul sing_ ; _I never thought I could care so much about someone who_ \- "Ariadne," he verbally nudged me.

"I had..." I recalled suddenly: _I ran from the apartment with no breakfast, lost my latte on the stairs, had only a cup of coffee that Eames had fetched me, skipped lunch_ , "...nothing. Oh, for fuck's sake." I swore under my breath. Great, a klutz and a stupid one at that. I was cursing myself out as Arthur stood calmly, went to his desk and came back with a banana and a package of sunflower seeds. "Eat these." He put them in front of me, all efficiency and goal focus once more. "Rest for half an hour. Drink plenty of liquid. Tell me if the wound reopens." He gathered up the first aid kit, making me wonder if I'd imagined the softness of his look before. "We're going under later." He added, looking back at me with the merest shadow of a ghost of a smile, "so you'll need some time for anaesthesia to wear off. Eat," he added pointedly.

The banana peeled clumsily in my hand, but when I looked over Arthur was deep into his work once more and not looking in my direction. I stamped on the shrivelling feeling that restarted in my chest and forced the food into my mouth. Klutz I may have been, but not so stupid as to pine and waste away in the hope he'd come to my aid. Again. I stuffed down another bite of fruit, determined that the rest of today would pass without a hitch, even if I had to bend over backwards to make sure of it.

\---

The dream was part defence drill, part orientation. I was the dreamer, but part of the exercise was for us to practice some offensive tactics, since our current mark had strong hints of subsecurity training in his background. The setting was a factory, a Metropolis nightmare of clanking machines, swinging robotic arms and flying sparks that made me nervous from the get go, made worse by the fact I was going to be putting my still fledgling arms skills into use. We split into two teams, Arthur and Cobb making off to one side of the maze while Eames and I had vanished off to the other.

"Relax." Eames had smiled at me as we crept over a catwalk above the busy floor. "It's not one of those wonky Cobb jobs where you go to la la land if you die here." I tried to nod in agreement, but I had carried the ache of the scald and the pain in my left hand down into the dream and despite my best efforts they were making me uncomfortable.  
"Here, I think." Eames stopped and attached two ropes to the handrail with deft fingers. "You remember what to do, right?" He looked closely at me, shifting around from the phantom discomforts.  
"Yes," I bit back, reaching out to catch the harness he threw me.

It was pretty simple really: When the projections entered aim fire towards the first wave then rappel down, using height to pick off the second and third. Or it had seemed simple when Arthur had patiently explained it to us then allowed me to practise with him in a dummy run. I flexed my hands around the semi automatic shotgun, which still felt impossibly cumbersome in my grasp. The trick, I reminded myself, was to brace with my shoulder, hold the rope between my knees and use enough force to kick the belay device in so it would stop me above the floor. Once stopped I could then use both hands to shoot, Arthur's voice said calmly in my memory.

The first sounds of voices and running feet came towards us. "Shit, they're here." I babbled at Eames, who simply smiled and raised his gun.  
"Showtime," he said, taking aim with practised ease. I raised my own firearm, pulling the stock to my body and squinting down the sight, reciting the lessons I had learned already. _Squeeze, don't pull. Brace for the recoil. Breathe out when you fire._ The weight in my hand was firm and almost too real as I watched a projection run into my eyeline, my finger curled, the sudden noise in my ears making them ring as the khaki suited body fell.

We seemed to stand there for an age. In my head it became like an arcade game, point, squeeze, fall. I swear I started to imagine the electronic trill as each projection tipped over and crumpled. It seemed to be years before Eames chirped happily:  "Down we go!" And swung himself into space like a monkey on a vine, braking his rope neatly and repositioning his gun arm. "Ariadne, get the fuck down here." He ordered as I stood watching him like a dummy, tutting as I counted myself off the railing and jumped, the rope burning in my hand as I tried desperately to control the descent.

"Jesus," he frowned as I jerked to a halt, "try and look like you've done it before."  
"I'm nervous, OK?" I snapped, my hand tingling and the skin of my chest flaming around the harness. I wrenched my gun up, clenched the rope and braced to take aim, trying to ignore all the parts of my body which hurt or were otherwise insisting I wasn't able to do this. "Don't just dream it," Eames insisted sharply, "be it."  
"Thanks." I muttered as the next wave of projections appeared around the stacks of crates. "Any more chicken soup for the soul?"  
Eames took aim and picked off one, then another. "Now, now." He soothed. "No need to bite my head off too."  
I snarled and fired twice. "Stop being a prick then."   
"Darling, what's got into you today?" He sent down another volley of fire. "Well?"  
"Nothing!" I shot out a kneecap and swore.  
"Really? _Opps, die you bastard. Lovely._ You're acting like you've got sand in your lady pocket."  
"I'm what?" I shrieked "Sand in my vag-" The rest of the word got lost in another spatter of gun fire as he laughed dryly.  
"That's the one. _Ten green projections, standing on a wall and if Eames was to shoot one he'd accidentally fall, then there'd be nine green projections standing..._ " He grit his teeth and fired again. "Seriously, you're in a snit and it's making being around you unpleasant to say the least. What happened? Arthur not doing his duty?" He teased.

I was suddenly so sick of being poked, prodded, ordered around, injured, aching and being tired that everything rose up in a white wall of rage. "There is nothing wrong," I aimed and shot, this time barely seeing, just aiming and firing, aiming and firing at any body crossing my sight, "with me,"  _ **bang, bang, bang**_ , "or fucking," _**bang, bang, bang,**_ "Arthur!" The last word was a shout, punctuating the last shot which was arrowing with deadly certainty at a stray projection emerging into the open space below us. I had aimed low by accident, the bullet straying from the torso to the low abdomen and just as it made contact, right fucking then, the projection looked up and his face resolved with horrifying clarity into Cobb. His features paled, an o of surprise forming on his lips as the projectile broke flesh, his eyes fixed on me as both hands dropped to the wound, his body reeling back from the impact. As he fell to the floor, clutching himself and yowling with the pain I realised with complete horror what I'd done.

I'd shot Cobb in the crotch.

"Fuck!" Eames started to laugh, "Oh my god, you got him in the knob! There's a Freudian slip if ever I saw one." He kept snorting as I dropped down the rest of my line, wrenched the harness free and ran across the floor, my footsteps echoing crazily and my gun bumping my ribs. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I was yelling, just as Arthur had the excellent timing to emerge on the scene.  
"What the hell?" He made it to Cobb's side, yanking his blood soaked hands away before I was even able to deliver a kill shot. "What happened?" He demanded, his eyes flashing fire as I stopped next to the prone man.  
"Ariadne mistook Cobb for you and did her own personal tribute to _I Spit On Your Grave_." Eames hooted cheerfully. "What a way to go, eh Dominic? Shall I do the honours, Arthur?" He waved his shotgun as I rushed out,  
"I thought he was a projection."  
"You thought what? Didn't you recognise him?" Arthur dragged his handgun from under his jacket and snapped the safety back. "My god, how did you manage to aim so low?"  
"It was an accident, I was...Eames was..." The words tumbled and fell over each other as Arthur looked at me, his eyes hard.  
"You can't be distracted in this situation." He rolled the protesting Cobb on his side and pressed the gun barrel to his skull.  
"Cobb," I pleaded, seeing his swimming blue eyes on me, "I'm sorry."  
His breath rattled as the blood pooled under him. "...mistake. Funny really." He groaned, then Arthur fired. The shot was stark in the rattling space. His body crumpled, limp and empty, as Arthur stood, his gaze fixed down on his colleague.

"He's got a point." Eames prodded the silent Arthur. "A, it was a mistake and b, it was hilarious." He looked up, first at Eames then at me. His face didn't move. "Arthur, sweetheart, go easy. You remember your first day of arms training, right? I bet you couldn't hit the broadside of a barn door in a gale. Plus this was just a practice run and Ariadne's had a rough day..." Eames began to appeal. Arthur still hadn't moved, it was like he was examining me as if I'd  just crawled out from the primordial slime; I'd screwed up, I was in pain and quite suddenly I'd had enough. I couldn't bear for him to look at me with the shade of contempt in his eyes any more.

"Don't worry, I'll get out of your hair." My voice quavered unattractively. "You won't have to worry about me screwing up or needing baby sitting any more." The gun fumbled in my hands as I crammed it to myself, I could hear both of them start to say "No," but fuck it, what was one more pain?

When I fired the bullet ripped through in a hot flare. I fell forwards and the last thing I saw was Arthur running to catch me.

\---

I left before they came up. I apologised to Cobb who was sitting a shade uncomfortably but who otherwise laughed it off perhaps a little too much for plausibility, packed up my things and walked home. I could have got the metro but given the day I'd had it would probably have crashed.

The walk was uphill, but I hardly cared. The dull cramp in my back was tightening, my hand sparkled with pain when I forgot and closed it and the splatter on my chest felt raw. My neck was itching from the fabric of my cardigan and against all the odds I was developing a skull tightening headache. But worse, far worse, was the psychological beating I was giving myself:  _He thinks you're immature, he thinks you're not focused, he thinks you're sloppy, he can't stand you right now, he's not going to come home._ Round and round it spiralled in my head, the image of his eyes gone hard and distant behind it all as I trudged across Paris.

Finally, as if that wasn't enough, the rain started three streets from our apartment building. The sky had been lowering to a menacing grey, I had been hoping I could beat it but no- there was a ground shaking crack of thunder, the heavens opened and suddenly water poured down in thick sheets. No amount of scrabbling in my purse could bring up an umbrella so I gave in to being a drowned rat, the final indignity in a day of self inflicted prat falls. By the time I made it to our building I had decided I would do the right thing, pack up my possessions and give Arthur some space. My friend Camille had a spare room so I could crash with her, or failing that find a hotel; my plan of action fell neatly into place as I squelched past the concierge with a nod, ignoring her wide eyed glance then splattered and dripped my way up the stairs.

If I had been hoping that I would be alone for my quiet exit I was proved wrong. I opened the apartment door and instantly the smell of hot, savoury food tugged at my senses, making my stomach lurch and recall how little I'd eaten today then my heart sink as I realised that it could only mean Arthur had beaten me home. I could hear an orchestra playing quietly from the living room and as I crept further down the hall I caught the tang of wood smoke. He'd lit the fire too. Suddenly the cold of the rain seemed to be in my bones as I stood there, my eyes falling closed as I was shedding water onto the rug, shaking and tired and so, so sick of...  
"Ariadne?" I heard footsteps coming closer then I could smell Arthur in all his familiar richness, carefully tilting my head up in his warm hands. "You're drenched. Where have you been?"  
"I walked home. I've just got to get some things then I'll go." My face scrunched up. "I'll leave you be."  
"Open your eyes." He said evenly, waiting for me to comply. He was looking at me from his height with a half amused, half worried expression. His jacket and tie were gone, his creamy white buttondown's collar undone and his sleeves rolled up while his hair was falling out of it's usual strict lines. "Where are you going? And why?"  
"Camille's," I saw him frown, "I know you're pissed at me and I've been a bitch all day..."  
"So you think you should leave?" He interrupted. "How do you get from having a bad day to thinking I want you gone?"  
"You were so...you were...being such a point man. Then when I shot Cobb I thought..."

He startled me by laughing. "Oh Jesus, Ariadne. I thought you wanted me to back off and not be so sappy with you. When you shot Cobb I was trying to think of something to say without having hysterics. You shot him in the crotch. That is hilarious, you know that right? If you hadn't snuck off I would have told you so and asked you, in private, what was upsetting you." His thumbs traced circles on my cheekbones. "I didn't want to make it worse in front of Eames. I could see how torn up you were, but I didn't want to make it any tougher by smothering you."  
"You could have been a little gentler." I said quietly, watching him sigh.  
"Ariadne, I had been gentle with you. Do you remember what you said? That you didn't want special treatment." Damn his memory. "I thought you'd tell me when you were ready, so I tried to be professional with you. Well," he amended with a small smile, "as professional as we can be with you distracting me like crazy all day long."  
"Sorry." I all but snuffled.  
"For what? God, how crappy has your day been," He ran his eyes up and down me then let go off my face to start to unbutton my soaking cardigan, "you got terrorised by rats, your skirt broke, you cut yourself so badly you needed stitching, you haven't eaten properly, you shot your lead extractor in the cock then you got soaked to the skin in a thunderstorm. In think most people would cave under that." He tugged my hands gently from my sodden sleeves, taking my purse as he did so.

"I am curious though, why was my shirt in the kitchen sink, a pile of peas on the floor and a melted bag of ice in the tub?" He sounded amused as he started deftly on my shirt, then caught sight of the bright red mark on my breast bone. "Shit," he spread the fabric and I was so worn out I simply stood there, half slumped, and let him. "What's this?" His head jerked up to look at me and it took all I had not to just give up and topple on him.  
"I spilt some coffee on your shirt. I'll get you a new one."   
"Don't worry about my fucking shirt." He threw my wet clothes in a heap and began to urge me towards the bathroom, "I'm more worried about this." He pressed cautious fingers around the margins of the scald as he half walked, half pushed me forwards, stopping when my face twisted. "Come on," he said softly and before I could protest he picked me up bodily, my back in one arm and my legs slung over the other. "You're going to get soaked...It's not worth it. I can walk." I mumbled, letting my head loll on his shoulder.  
"God, will you just let me look after you for five minutes?" I heard him protest.  
"You Tarzan, Me Jane?" I tried to keep my voice light as he crossed the floor, barged into the bathroom and set me down on the rim of the tub.  
"No," he smiled, kneeling to take off my ruined skirt and sodden boots. "Me Arthur, You Ariadne." 

\---

I point blank refused to let Arthur bathe me, despite his best efforts to do so. He ran the water, he even washed my hair and wrapped it in a towel, but once I was stripped I felt he'd cosseted me enough. He settled for handing me into the tub, fetching me a glass of orange juice then sitting calmly on the closed toilet and telling me about the day Eames had managed to shoot him in the ass cheek during an extraction exercise. When I sputtered into my drink he smiled so disarmingly it made me blush. "Can you imagine?" He dandled his fingers in the water next to me. "I screamed like a stuck pig while Eames tried not to laugh his head off. Can you comprehend what that did for my dignity?"   
"I can imagine you grit your teeth and tried to carry on." I captured Arthur's wandering fingers in mine and leant back in the warm, scented water.   
"Sadly no. He had to shoot me in the head and he took great relish in doing so." He took my hand carefully, opening it to look at the stitches then pressed his lips into the centre of my palm. "He likes to remind me of it at opportune moments." He added, "it's actually pretty amusing to me now, so it's a bit of a failure on that score." 

"I suppose hitting Cobb there was kind of funny..." I said slowly. Arthur looked up at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.  
"Are you kidding? It was so damn funny that as we speak Eames is making some amusing jokes about dream based erectile dysfunction or do it yourself bullet assisted piercings via SMS to everyone he can think of. Anyway, if nothing else it'll be a great story for the kids; the day mommy mortally wounded uncle Dominic's weiner." He snorted to himself  while my stomach tightened with butterflies of happiness. We almost never discussed the future, being the way our working lives were. To know he'd thought of it....It made me want to curl up in him and not let go.

"The kids?" I kept my voice tinted with disbelief.  
"Sure. Why not?" He brushed imaginary lint from his immaculate pants. "Will you be OK if I go into the kitchen for a while?"  
"I think so." I grinned at him. "Going to whip up some elaborate feast?" He knelt down and kissed me, teasing my lips until little sparks were shooting down to my toes.  
"Something like that." He smiled as he leant back, one hand smoothing down my back. "Careful when you get out. I don't want you to slip and concuss yourself." 

I answered by eloquently flipping the bird at him as he sauntered out.

\---

Despite Arthur's jibe I did make it from the bath and into some _slouching around the house_ clothes without injury. I could hear the clatter of pans from the kitchen, so when I peered through the door and found him meticulously scooping flour into a measuring cup it was hardly a surprise.

"Dinner?" I asked, watching as he twisted round with a grin.  
"No, something else. A treat. For you." He turned back to the counter as I padded up and crowded next him.  
"What?" I peered into the bowls- _chocolate chips!_ I snuck one into my mouth, then stole a toasted cashew nut for good measure- "What?" I pressed, watching as he calmly tipped something golden yellow into the bowl in front of him.  
"Cookies." He said placidly, pouring sugar out. "Here, beat this into that." He pushed the bowl in front of me and stuck a fork in my hand.  
"I thought they were my treat?"   
"Don't pout Ariadne. It doesn't become you." He shot back, going to the refrigerator and leaving me to mix the batter with a soft, resigned sigh.  
"Fine," I attacked the mixture with a fury, slapping loops of it over the sides of the bowl with so much noise and gusto that I didn't realise Arthur had snuck up behind me until his front pressed into my back.

"Easy does it, Cinderella." His arms slipped over mine and I could feel the vibrations of his warmly amused voice as he leant into me. "It's only butter and sugar." He dipped a finger in the bowl and dabbed a drop over my bottom lip, waiting patiently until I licked it away with a satisfied smack of my lips. "That tastes nice." I went to dabble my own finger in the mix, only for Arthur to push my hands away.  
"No, this is your treat. Don't spoil it." I felt him put his hands on my ribs then slowly slide his fingers down my waist and over my hips so I was fitted into his body so snugly not even the finest blade could have passed between us. "You want cookies, don't you?" His voice had gone low and dark, enough to make my insides hot and liquid. "Or would you like something else?" 

"I think I..." I stumbled crazily. He had taken hold of the edge of my camisole and started to pull it lower as I spoke.  
"Cookies? You want cookies." His mouth fell on my shoulder as my top finally gave up and both straps tore away with a wrench, letting him push it down my body to the floor. I dropped the fork with a clatter as Arthur planted kisses across my shoulders then up my neck to my earlobe. His mouth was warm and damp when it met my skin and I could hear him making an amused rumble of sound as I pressed back into him, making an inarticulate noise in reply when he sucked the tender joins he had been seeking out. When his roaming hands finally came back to my body they cupped around my breasts, thumbs grazing each nipple to a tingling point before massaging the soft skin beneath. His chin rested on my shoulder as I dropped my head back, watching himself work me into a fever.

"Arthur," I pleaded.  
"I know, you want your treat." He purred into my ear. "You're going to have to help me though. I'm kind of occupied right now." He moulded my breasts firmly into his palms with a chuckle. "You can be my hands, can't you?"  
"I think so." I managed, pressing back to him again and feeling his cock starting to harden at my touch.  
"One minute," he dipped another finger into the sweetened butter, taking a large drop and with meticulous care anointing my nipples. "Saving some for later. That's my treat." He breathed; "It looks delicious. Now, lets finish yours." He dragged my hips back to his with firm hands and began to direct me.  
"Break in two eggs and beat." I fumbled across the counter, my hands grabbing at the smooth shells. The contents slipped in as I shattered them, golden as a pair of suns. "What do they remind me off?" Arthur dared to let one hand slide back under my right breast as if he was comparing. "Don't you dare." I warned breathlessly.  
"Yours are infinitely superior." He let go and started to worry the waistband of my pants, inching it down fraction by fraction. "Infinitely," he added as the fabric began to slip. "You need to beat the mixture, Ariadne." I heard him insist as his nimble fingers crept over my belly.  

I grabbed the fork and tried my best, but Arthur's sneaking hands were getting lower and it made concentrating on mixing difficult, to put it mildly. "Vanilla." He prompted as one fingertip brushed the curls over my pussy, rewarding me with another as I dropped some in. My centre felt hot, trembling and pulsing in time with his touch; the wet creeping onto my thighs betraying me more that anything I could have said.

"Flour, oatmeal, baking soda and salt." I arched myself back as I poured the dry ingredients into the bowl, forcing my ass  against his cock and loving the resultant moan I got for my pains. "Naughty," He bit out, pulling me straight and cupping my entire sex with his hand as I was made flush to him again. "Mix it. Gently." As I dipped the fork back into the bowl I felt him spread me open, the air suddenly cool on the tender spots he had uncovered. I moaned this time, the fork going slack in my hand. "Mix the dough Ariadne, or there won't be any cookies." A fingertip brushed my clit and the resultant shock of pleasure made me press back in a greedy rush. "Mix it properly and you get some more." He promised with an audible grin, satisfying himself with kissing my neck, my cheek and shoulders until I complied in a messy rush. "A little more," he sighed as the flour vanished into the wet mass, the teasing finger tracing lightly over me. "Just a little more."

I gasped as he caught my clit again, all but dropping the bowl on my feet. "Careful. We're just getting to the fun part." Arthur admonished, the grasp on my hip tightening as his cock pressed against me.  
"The fun part?" I gabbled.  
"Oh yes. Chocolate chips," his voice lowered with promise, "and cashew nuts. You pour them in," I felt him spread me a little wider, two fingers catching the slick that had gathered as the slid lower, past my clit, teasing against my entrance, "then you mix everything well," the tips pressed against me, moving inside far slower than I liked.  
"Arthur, for god's sake," I clenched my eyes shut and tried to pitch forward onto his hand. My body was going crazy from his hands, every inch of skin greedy to be licked or stroked as it shivered and sparkled with nerves overworking.  
"Fold them in and you get what you want." He grinned again, the maddening son of a bitch, I could feel it. His hand even dared to stop with the barest fraction of his fingers there to satisfy me, wriggling gently inside until I forced myself to do as he had bid. He let out a pleased sigh as the last ingredients vanished into the mix, then just as he'd promised his fingers pushed into me, giving me a foretaste of what I was really craving, then dragged out curling in a beckon before he worked them back.

"Oh god Arthur," I was canting my hips against his hand desperately, "I need..."  
"One last thing." He pressed back, twisting his fingers inside me so I gasped. "You need to put spoonfuls of the dough onto the cookie sheets."  
"I can't possibly," I stuttered. I could barely stay standing, let alone do anything more complex.  
"For every cookie you spoon out, I will give you..." He let his fingers fill me again, making me squeeze around him. "How does that sound?"  
"I...I mean I..." His thumb brushed my clit this time and I shuddered. "Give me a spoon," I grated out, fumbling the handle into my good hand and digging it into the pale mixture.  
"That's it. One spoonful," he breathed as I started to dollop it out, "means you get my fingers just where you want them." I groaned as he dipped in and pulled out. "You work faster, you get more." He promised sweetly, watching as I all but threw the mix onto the sheets, his hand pumping in time to my work and making me pitch towards him harder with a needy series of sounds. He was pushing into me, his cock rubbing against my back and his own mumbled "Ariadne, oh god that's good..."  Sending darts of desire through me.

"Now," he panted in my ear. "They need to go in the oven for fifteen minutes. I'm going to let go of you to put them in. Do not go anywhere." He finished with a growl as his hand uncurled from me, forcing me to brace myself on the counter. "Hands clean first." It came up, over my shoulder and I managed to turn my head to see him sucking me off his fingers before he shifted forwards, his mouth sealed over mine quickly; his kiss desperate and demanding. "Stay here." He said again, "I'm not anywhere near done with your treat yet." I think I whimpered, grabbing his face in my hand and dragging him back to me. "I'll be quick." He promised when I let go.  
"With my cookies or my treat?"  
"The cookies. Definitely the cookies." 

He crushed my lips again then let go of me, wrenching the oven open, whisking the treats away and slamming it with a decisive crash. When he turned back to me I had propped myself against the counter, shed my clothes and was now wearing nothing but two dabs of buttercream. He stopped and looked at me, his eyes huge and liquid dark in his flushed face, half his buttons undone where I'd pressed against his chest, his hair collapsing from _slick point man_ to _well fucked Arthur_ (probably my favourite style) and his mouth still bruised from our kisses, curling into a smile. "Do you know what's good for curing a crappy day?" He started towards me, a slow predatory slink that made my spine tingle.  
"No," I risked, letting my chest heave for good measure.  
"Orgasms." He closed in on my space, body to body with me again. "One after another after another." He leant down, the butter smearing his shirt as he kissed me again, hands grabbing my ass and hoisting me up to his waist. He let me go to breathe. "Bed?"

"No, Arthur, now." I demanded, my mouth dropping kisses against his face, over his jaw and down his neck as I repeated, "now, now, now, please, please, please, my love, my love, my love." Like I'd gone crazy and only had a four word vocabulary. He made an inarticulate groan, took maybe five steps then my ass was resting on a cold, flat surface.  
"Table," he reassured me as he pushed me back so I was spread out across it right under his gaze.  My legs fastened around his as he yanked his clothes off, eyeing me greedily. "Arthur," I repeated, reaching up to him, the hunger inside me too strong to ignore any longer.

"I want my treat now." He insisted roughly  as he lowered himself down to me, hands planted either side of my shoulders. His cock pressed over my pussy as he dipped his head, his tongue snaking out and lapping at one nipple then the other; shifting back and forth as I cradled his head and forced myself not to crush him into me as I arched up to his touch; harder when he started to suck until I couldn't bear it any longer, the heat and flood in me screaming for him even as I cried out under him. "Arthur," I dragged the word from my throat, forcing him to look up and let me see myself reflected in his pupils, "Arthur, I need," I tightened my legs around him as he watched me, his face so beautifully familiar to me even as every line gave away just what he wanted to do.

"Oh god, Ariadne," he whispered, rising up so we were hip to hip, one hand wrapping around himself as he sank down into me, even as I pushed up, bringing my legs higher, wrapping around his waist so I could lever away from the surface. The breath in my chest hitched and suddenly I was full of him, my body tightening reflexively around his cock as I made a plaintive gasp. "Arthur, that's it. That's what I want. Arthur, please."  
He rocked back, his body coming to cover mine as he rolled forwards again, my body shifting and twisting under his as every pain, every discomfort that the day had visited on me washed out in the tide of this, him, us. "Ariadne," he crooned to me, his mouth coming down against my overheated skin as he moved in and out of my body; "Ariadne," he breathed again, his eyes fixed on mine as my nerves flared under his touch.  
"Oh my Ariadne," was all I could hear as I felt the heat in my chest and belly begin to uncoil, the twitch drag in my feet rising higher as I started to rise up to meet him. "I've got to...you need to..." I was letting the words out in a ridiculous stream, no longer giving a fuck about making sense or anything so pointless as that. My hands rose, bracing against his chest to scratch his nipples in the desperate hope I could pull him down with me, loving the groan I elicited as he began to move faster, worming my good hand between us to find my clit and push myself to the edge I was desperate to tip over; watching him drop his head down to see me scrawling out the endless circles as he thrust in and out, the deep groan making my body shake as he rose back up, hips slamming down in time to my hand.

"So fucking beautiful. It's so fucking beautiful. Seeing you take me while you touch yourself. Come for me," he begged in a voice gone raw, rolling over me in a hot wave as my body started to come undone, "I can feel it. I can feel you. Come for me." 

"Jesus Arthur, holy fucking I..." My hand pushed down hard, the flesh under it tightening then it hit me, my spine arching up as my limbs shook, my brain jittering out a crazy procession of words, sounds and images as the heat and light sparkled through me, forcing myself to keep going, keep coming in a burst of shocks until I felt his body accelerate, stutter then crash down to join me.

\---

"What's that noise?" I asked softly, the metallic beeping too soft to disturb but too loud to be ignored. Arthur looked up from extremely carefully kissing around the margin of my scald and muttering promises of aloe in it's future while I idly combed his hair with my fingers.  
"Hmm? Shit, the cookies." He peeled himself off me, bending back down for a kiss as an afterthought, then vanished, leaving me sprawled on our dining table, limp and satisfied and half wondering if I should move to somewhere more comfortable. Maybe when I got the energy, I decided, in a few minutes perhaps. My eyes were fluttering shut to the background of Arthur clanking around the kitchen when, after a brief pause, something warm, buttery and sweet was wafted under my nose. I peeled my eyelids open to find Arthur sitting next to me, holding a cookie out to my lips and smiling his enigmatic smile. "You sleep, you miss the cookies. I brought you the first one." 

I rolled onto my side and made to take it, only for him to insist. "Take a bite."   
"I can feed myself."  
"Ariadne, we've had this discussion once today. Let me look after you for five minutes." He insisted, his face so sincere as he looked at me that I stepped down from my self imposed policy of self reliance for the second time and took a cautious mouthful, rolling it over my tongue, taking in the sweetness. Arthur watched me patiently as the treat crumbled into a melting mass of dark chocolate and toasted cashews as I chewed, the oatmeal faintly spicy against the butter richness and a happy little moan came from my mouth.   
"Not bad for a joint effort." He bit off a corner as I dragged his hand back for another taste. "I take it you like them?"  
"Mmm hmm." I said around another mouthful. Damn, these were great. Perhaps we should cook like this more often? Although Arthur might not be so happy about having to be constantly taking things from a hot oven while naked, I reasoned to myself and grinned. 

"What's funny?" He asked as I met his eyes.  
"Oh, I was just thinking about you naked, holding a plate of cookies." I walked my fingers across the table top to him. "I think that might be my new PMS cure of choice, you know."  
"Mmm hmm." Arthur leant down and put a kiss on my knuckles. "It just so happens..." he reached around to the counter behind him "...I have a plate of cookies..." The dish wafted past my nose then his chair scraped back and he stood up, every inch of him on show for me "...and I am naked."

"Is this where I say I have PMS?" I drawled.  
"Ariadne, I know you do." He cut off my splutter with an elegant eyebrow raise. "Just like you know when I'm under stress. Do you think I live with you and notice nothing?" I opened my mouth stupidly and shut it again. He had a point, and a damn good one at that, the smug knowall.   
"You don't have to be so arch about it." I huffed, watching as he grinned in his maddening, dimpled way.

"Fine, duly noted. Now, do you want to come to bed and eat cookies or shall I do that by myself?"

I rolled off the table and hopped to the floor, taking the plate from him and kissing his mouth in return. "No," I smiled back, "you're a vital part of my cure." I snagged another cookie and bit into it cheerfully, humming as I turned started to make for the bedroom. Only this time when Arthur picked me up, I didn't protest.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> A/N's  
> The character [Storm](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Storm_%28Marvel_Comics%29) (of the X Men) is the property of Marvel Comics. I make no money from this, so feel free to try and pry my last sixteen dollars away from me before I blow it all on hitRECord merchandise :o)
> 
>   
> Valet stands really do exist. You can bet Arthur owns one a little like [this](http://www.notonthehighstreet.com/stephenmorrisfurniture/product/gentlemans-valet-stand)   
> 
> 
> Coffee stains really do come out in a vinegar solution (trust me on this one.) I should also mention the scald Ariadne gets is one I've heard of other people getting. Those warming plates get damn hot...Also like Ariadne, I once tried to kick down one of those Ingersol combination lock doors, convinced someone had changed the code on me. It turned out I was anaemic and a bit nutty to boot, but I stand by my assessment of them- they're crappy.
> 
> The rappelling technique I've mentioned I got from talking to a climber who was also my tour guide when I was visiting California. Just in case anyone thinks I actually, you know, scaled El Capitan. A belay device is used as a kind of descender, although more usually for long drops.
> 
> A few words on Eames' verbiage: _Undercrackers_ , _smalls_ and _bloomers_ are all words referring to panties in UK usage. _Lady pocket_ as slang for female genitals is from the comedian Tim Vine, while the expression _"sand in [her] vagina"_ comes from the unmistakably brilliant and  "dear god, I am sane!" feeling restoring [fanwank](http://wiki.fandomwank.com/index.php/Main_Page) community. The song he sings is an Eamesified version of _Ten Green Bottles_.
> 
> Cobb's unique wound, while I wish it was my idea, comes from a fic which I have stupidly forgotten the title of in which it was Arthur who took the bullet. To the anon who wrote it, I bow. You're genius.However,Eames getting Arthur in the backside was all my own work. _  
> I Spit On Your Grave_ is an infamous rape revenge movie involving some rather *ahem* unique means of death. One of them involves damage to the male genitalia, although I admit not with a gun.
> 
> The cookie recipe is a de veganed version of Isa Chandra Moskowitz's chocolate chip oatmeal everything cookies from _Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar!_ (excellent and well worth it even for non dairy avoiders.)
> 
> Lastly, I should mention that in moderation orgasms and chocolate are excellent for PMS. No, this is not bullshit - orgasms release endorphins which are great for relieving mood swings and aches while chocolate contains a number of trace minerals as  well as stimulating a release of serotonin (the fact it's sugar kind of helps with that...) which can improve poor mood in the right individuals.  
> 


End file.
